


The Habits of the Domesticated Strider-Egbert

by SolarMorrigan



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: M/M, Meme of Domesticity, No substance whatsoever, This is all just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of paragraphs and short stories written for the Meme of Domesticity.  Originally posted on Tumblr.  Prompt: Leave a ship in my ask and I will tell you...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Habits of the Domesticated Strider-Egbert

**Author's Note:**

> An anon requested DaveJohn. I think originally I was just supposed to write a sentence, or name a person under each line, but this got waaay out of hand and I ended up with this instead.
> 
> Link to the [Tumblr post](http://clearlyodd.tumblr.com/post/32070636447/meme-of-domesticity-davejohn-12-12) (links to the 12 installment, which has links to the previous 11).

**Who is the big spoon/little spoon**

Something you find endlessly entertaining (and endearing) about Dave, is the fact that he is an absolute cuddlemonster.  You called him that once and he smacked you in the back of the head.  You then started to shout about abuse until he offered to kiss it better.  You then informed him that he hadn’t smacked you on the lips, and- okay, you’re getting off-topic here.  The point is, Dave is a shameless cuddler.  He ends up draped all over you if you sit on the couch together, he’ll elect to sit on you if you’re sitting on the floor (until you shove him off because you can’t feel your legs), and the worst (best) time is in bed.  Ever since you began sharing a bed, you haven’t once woken up without Dave plastered against your back.  You’re not even sure he does it consciously.  You can start out on your respective sides, but you always wake up to Dave’s arms wrapped around your waist or your chest and his legs mixed up with yours.  You make a show about complaining how restrictive and hot it gets, but you both know that you don’t really mind; even if he does always get to be the big spoon.

**What is their favorite non-sexual activity**

There aren’t a lot of things that Dave and John actually partake in together.  Sometimes they play video games, but John likes oldies, which Dave sucks at, and Dave ironically likes shitty games, which John gets fed up with inside an hour.  John suspects the reason Dave picks such terrible games is because he’s actually kind of terrible at video games in general, but he has no proof.  Sometimes they watch movies together, but that isn’t often.  Dave insists John’s taste in movies sucks- which it does- and John just doesn’t get the strange indie movies that Dave picks.  Half the time, they don’t even have happy endings!  They like to make music together, but times when they’re simultaneously inspired to string out melodies and beats are unfortunately few.  More often than not, the pair will be content to sit in the same room, working on their own projects but content in the knowledge that the other is simply there.

That’s when they can partake in was is undoubtedly (if unconsciously) their favorite shared activity.  Talking.  Dave might be drawing, John might be programming, they might be studying, or surfing the web, or simply unwinding, but they never stop talking to each other.  They can while away hours and hours with conversations about nothing and everything and actors and food and people and classes and work and end-of-the-world theories and how to best hide a body and family and friends and how much of an utter dork one believes the other to be and anything, anything, anything under and beyond the sun.  And if asked, they would likely think of their time spent talking as the best time they spend together

**Who uses all the hot water in the morning**

“Dave, what are you _doing_?” John whirled around, nearly slipping, as the shower curtain was pulled briefly aside, admitting one naked Dave Strider.

Which would have been a much more pleasant sight if John didn’t have shampoo dripping into his eyes at the moment.  “Actually getting some hot water for once is what I’m doing.” The blonde answered, nudging John to the side so he could stand under the spray.

John crossed his arms over his chest.  “Oh, don’t even.  You use up way more hot water than I ever do.” Dave scoffed and John frowned. “I’m serious!  You are the hot water hog.  It is definitely you.”

“Keep telling yourself that, man.” Was Dave’s reply.

He grabbed the shampoo bottle and worked some into his hair while John continued to glare.  When Dave maneuvered himself aside, John didn’t hesitate to rinse out his own hair, still casting exaggerated mistrustful looks at his partner.  Finally Dave rolled his eyes and reached for the body wash.  “Want me to get your back?” He offered with a smirk.

John quirked an eyebrow.  “I can wash my own ba- oh!  …Yeah, okay.”

Dave’s smirk grew slightly until it almost resembled a normal smile as he squeezed some of the gel out into his palm.

They proceeded to discover that the shower was simply not made to accommodate two grown men and/or their recreational activities.

**What they order from take out**

The names John Egbert and Dave Strider had almost reached star status at the locally owned pizza joint nearest the boys’ apartment building.  After his upbringing, there was no way Dave was going to go near any kind of Asian takeout again- especially not when John insisted on eating it with chopsticks- and John had an inherent distrust of anything spicier than a pepperoni.  Despite their best efforts to adjust to one another’s tastes, they eventually decided that pizza was really the only way to go when it came to ordering in.  And so, being two young men just starting out with little time or patience to cook, and the pizza being a relatively inexpensive option, they became regulars at the little shop, ordering something at least twice a week.

Ordering on Mondays or Tuesdays called for thin crusts and vegetable toppings, Wednesdays (readily acknowledged as the worst day of the week) called for deep dish and plenty of meat, Thursdays or Fridays would bring forth extra sauce, cheese, and everything else, and weekends meant they would split- jalapenos and sausage on Dave’s side, pepperoni and spinach on John’s.  They could ask for the usual without having to specify and no one batted an eyelash when Dave asked for “John” to be spelled out in pepperoni that one time (“Oh my God, Dave, this is the lamest, sweetest thing ever.  How am I even supposed to eat it now?”)

**What is the most trivial thing they fight over**

John glared down at the silverware drawer.  They had a separator for a _reason_.  And that reason was not ‘so Dave can ignore it.’  “Morning.” Speak of the devil…

Dave walked behind John to reach the refrigerator and John responded to his greeting with a pointed sigh.  “What?” The blonde asked as he leaned into the fridge.

“When I asked you to put the dishes away, I didn’t mean for you to just throw them in the drawer.” John replied with a frown.

The other man stood up straight, bottle of apple juice in hand, and glanced over at the offending drawer.  He shrugged and popped the cap on the plastic bottle.  “Looks fine to me.”

“Looks _fine_?  It’s a mess!  How can you keep getting this wrong?  There’s a spot for teaspoons, for tablespoons, for forks, and for knives; it’s not that hard.” John huffed.

Dave rolled his eyes, an action that was easily seen in his shades-less state of the early morning.  “I don’t get what your huge fucking hangup is about where the forks go.  Is it that hard to just look in the damn drawer and pick out the thing you want?”

“That’s not the point!  There are designated spots; if you’re not going to use them, then why have them at all?  It’s just better that they’re all sorted.” John turned and watch Dave leave the kitchen again.

“Right.  Personally, I think your insisting on segregating the silverware is cruel.  But if you stand around bitching about spoons for much longer, you’re going to be late for work.”

John glared after Dave as the blonde sauntered down the hall again, then slammed the drawer shut with a scowl.  This was so not over.

**Who does most of the cleaning**

Dave was not an unclean person; in fact, he took great pride in his personal hygiene.  However, he had grown up in a world where fireworks occupied the dishwasher and puppets languished in the sink and cords on the floor made it hard to vacuum and where a little bit of dust never killed anyone.  John, on the other hand, had grown up in a meticulously clean home.  Say what you want about bachelors, but Dad had kept his house spic and span and expected John to help with that.  Shelves were dusted, floors were vacuumed, dishes were done after dinner, and the aftermath of a pranking war was always cleaned up by the next day.  So while Dave saw no problem with some clutter and fluff, John had nearly gone mad waiting for Dave to reveal his cleaning habits when they’d first moved in together.

When John finally broke down and spent an entire day off cleaning the apartment, Dave came home and wandered the place with a mixed look of confusion and amusement.  “You cleaned.” He’d noted.

“Yeah.  A lot.” John had replied, somewhat pointedly.

“Why?” Was Dave’s only comeback. “It wasn’t bad.”

John then explained that yes, yes it was bad.  There had been dust and mildew and mud at the entrance and it was simply unacceptable.  After poking some fun at John’s positively domestic demeanor at the moment, Dave agreed to help with the cleaning when John asked.  He then tried to order John to make him a sandwich, which earned him a sopping sponge to the head and an assignment to go do the dishes.

**Who controls the Netflix queue**

It was only in his mind that Dave would admit he had only barely managed to avoid jumping when John’s arms draped around his neck from behind.  Both long-fingered hands splayed across the blonde’s chest, crossed at the forearms, warm and familiar.  “Hey.” John murmured as he brought his chin down to rest on Dave’s shoulder.

“Afternoon.” Dave replied, casually continuing to scroll down the page he’d been looking at on his laptop even though he’d stopped registering most of it when John’s fingers started flexing against his skin.

John hummed, low and agreeable in response and then Dave could feel the dark-haired man kissing his shoulder through the fabric of his t-shirt.  He trailed a few more to the side before reaching the collar of the white shirt and nipping the skin he found there.  Dave made a slightly squelched noise of pleasure in the back of his throat and completely ceased his aimless scrolling as John continued working his mouth against Dave’s skin.  The blonde felt compelled to dislike how easily John could get him worked up, but his neck was his goddamn stupidest and most vulnerable erogenous zone and John- Dave gasped when his boyfriend’s mouth found the junction of his neck and shoulder and sucked- John definitely knew how to work it.

A last rasp of the teeth against the very base of Dave’s neck had him craning to the side to give John more room.  The other man obliged, trailing lips and tongue up the pale skin, slowly and surely making his way up.  Another pleased hum vibrated in Dave’s chest, unabashed this time when John laved his tongue against the shell of Dave’s ear and gently nipped the very tip.  Then the office chair was creaking as he shifted his weight against Dave slightly so that he could lean forward and speak directly into the man’s ear.  “Dave…” John murmured, so close the blonde could feel lips and teeth and hot breath against his skin.

“Mhm?”

Bringing a hand up to trail featherlight against the still exposed side of Dave’s neck, John spoke again, his voice low and enticing, “Give me the password to the Netflix queue.”

“Mmmnot a chance.”

“Oh gogdamnit!” John was gone from Dave’s back and the blonde could all but sense him throwing his arms up in exasperation, “Why the hell not?”

“Same as ever: your movies suck, man.” Dave was actually grinning as he swiveled around to face John, “Nice try, though.”

**Who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working**

You are cold.  No, cold doesn’t cut it.  You are freezing your ass off.  You bid your toes goodbye long ago, and your nose not long after them.  Your fingers are stiff with cold and you’re pretty sure your ass is going to be the next thing to bite it.  So to speak.  And John isn’t helping at all.  “That’s funny; I could’ve sworn Dave was out here, but all I see is a puddle of sweatshirts on the couch.”

You find a hole in your protective coverings and flip him the bird.  “Oh, and now the puddle is flipping me off.” He flops down onto the couch, bouncing up and down a little to jostle you because he’s an asshole. “Y’know, I’d much rather have my boyfriend than a pile of laundry with an attitude… Then again, they may be the same thing.”

“Oh, fuck off.  It’s motherbitching freezing, how are you not dead?” You manage to find the front of the two hoods you are wearing and look out at John.

He rewards you with a snort for your trouble.  “Dave, you’re such a wimp.  The building super said she was working on the heating problem, it’ll be on again soon.  And it’s not even that bad!”

“Yeah?  Well I don’t see you running around in your birthday suit, basking in the heat.” You mutter back at him.  Though it is true that he looks slightly under dressed next to you, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, thick socks, and a sweatshirt.

“Okay, I said it’s not that bad, not that it’s not cold.  It definitely doesn’t warrant pajama bottoms under sweatpants, a long-sleeve shirt, and stealing not one, but _two_ of my sweatshirts.” John sounds a little incredulous, “In fact, how are _you_ not dead?  Aren’t you, like, sweating out your life force under there or something?”

“No.  I am, in fact, freezing my ass off.  I-” You prepare to recount the body parts you’ve lost already, but his arms are suddenly wrapping around your waist (awkwardly, over all your layers of clothing) and you change tracks, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to shut you up.” John replies.  Then he’s pulling you back against him, between his legs and against his chest, keeping you close with his arms still wrapped your midsection.  He has a little trouble finding your shoulder under your shirts, but he finally manages and rests his head on it, leaning against the two hoods you have up.  “Better?” He asks once you’re both settled.

You’ll admit, this is very nice.  However- “Nope.  I’m calling the super again.” You fish for your cell in the foremost pocket of your many hoodies.

“Dave, you called half an hour ago, you’re going to piss her off.  You’re going to get us kicked out!”

“It’s probably warmer on the streets at this point.”

“Oh my god.”

**Who steals the blankets**

The blanket thievery isn’t really intentional.  It’s just that John is a restless sleeper.  He always has been; his father would occasionally recount tales waking in the middle of the night to the sounds of John thrashing and tussling with blankets and argue with himself over whether or not to wake him.  And when John starts moving around, tossing back and forth, throwing limbs out and pulling them back, he can’t really help but get tangled in sheets and comforters.

Dave discovered early on that trying to keep a hold on the blankets was all but useless.  Certainly, if he stayed tense and held fast to the covers he could stop them from being yanked off by his bedmate.  But was that really any way to try and sleep?  No.  No it was not.  It was, in fact, a shitty way to sleep.  But after a few nights of losing fights over sheets and ending up curled against John by morning- for warmth if for nothing else- Dave found a way to use his natural clinginess to his advantage (shut it egbert im not clingy i cant help it if youre more comfortable than the furniture i mean come on).

In the blissful period of peace between getting into bed and the start of John’s somnambulant gymnastic routine, Dave began breaching the imaginary divide between their respective sides of the bed without preamble and cuddling the fuck out of John.  And John would complain about it sometimes, or chuckle to himself, or even cuddle right back, and Dave went ahead and let the brunet think what he wanted.  Being wrapped up in Dave seemed to all but completely quiet John’s restless movements and, moreover, it kept Dave from freezing his ass off after losing the custody battle over the comforter.

**Who leaves their stuff around**

The small, one-story house has reached the point of “too much clutter.”  This means that John will spend about two hours passing through rooms and shouting at Dave to come put his stuff away.  Depending on how vindictive John is feeling, this may start as early in the morning as 7 o’clock.

It’s not that John doesn’t leave his things around- his shoes stray into the hallway and his coats pile up on the backs of kitchen chairs and papers from work accumulate on flat surfaces- but he makes an effort to pick it all up every couple of days.  He tells himself every time to stop leaving these things to pile up, but the next day he comes home, kicks off his shoes by the door, hangs his jacket over the nearest chair, and dumps a file on the table like it’s burning his hands before he goes to see if Dave is home yet.

Dave’s clutter, on the other hand, is more… transient.  It migrates.  But it’s never, ever where it’s supposed to be.  Occasionally, John has a mind to just go with it and let Dave leave things where he pleases.  It’s not dirty- laundry goes in the hamper, dishes in the sink, garbage in the waste basket, and so on- but it’s still a mess.  But still, if John left well enough alone, they wouldn’t have to go through the ordeal of sorting all his shit out.  Then Dave wanders into the room, looking for one thing or another, searches every room in the house for it because he can’t remember where it put it down the last time he used it, only to find something he’d been looking for earlier that day and completely forget about the first object he was looking for and John can’t.  He just can’t.

So he goes on periodic decluttering missions, and engages in the inevitable unheated arguments.  “Dave, put your camera where it belongs!”

“Where’s it belong?”

“I don’t know!  It’s your camera, where do you want to keep it?”

“Can’t I just keep it here?”

“No, it doesn’t go here.”

“How do you know?  Weren’t you the one just asking me where it belongs?  I’d say it looks pretty damn comfy right here.”

“…Fine.  But the jarred fetus goes in your office, it’s too fucking creepy to keep out here.”

“But it loves you, John.”

“Dave, no.”

**Who remembers to buy the milk**

Dave’s attention shifted from his computer screen to his phone when a familiar ringtone began grating his eardrums (“How Do I Live,” because it had both annoyed the piss out of John and made him smile a little).  “Sup?” The blonde answered the device without much thought, glancing back at his computer.

“ _Hey, Dave, do we need milk_?” John’s voice filtered through the other end, a bit fuzzy with all background noise.

“I don’t know.” Dave shrugged even though there was no one to see it. “Why?”

“ _Because I stopped at the grocery store to get something for dinner and I think we need milk but I don’t remember how much is left._ ”

“I didn’t use any milk today.  Dunno how much is left.” Dave leaned back in his chair, knowing full well John probably just wanted him to look in the fridge.

John sighed.  “ _Well, can you go check?_ ”

“I guess so, fine.” Dave sighed, doing his best to sound put-upon by the request.

He heard John snort on the other end of the line.  “ _Stop whining, **baby**._ ” This was less the romantic sort of baby and more the ‘you’re being childish’ sort of baby.  Dave occasionally pretends not to know the difference.

This time, however, he just stops whining and looks into the fridge.  “Less than half a carton left.” He reported. “Hey, what’re you getting for dinner?"

“ _Uh.  I didn’t really think that far ahead.  What d’you feel like?_ ”

“How ‘bout pizza?” Dave suggested with a smirk.

He can hear John huff before letting out a “ _Daaave,_ ”

“Nah, I mean let’s make some.” The blonde butts in before the whining can continue, “We still have some cheese, just grab some of that crust-in-a-tube shit and some sauce and you’re good to go.”

“ _Oh, and how about some salami?_ ” John suggested, evidently walking now, as the background noise was shifting.

Dave shook his head, still holding the phone to his cheek.  “Dude, we have salami.”

“ _Yeah, but it’s, like, three weeks old._ ” John protested.

“So?”

“ _I think I heard it muttering to itself in the back of the drawer this morning.  I dare you to smell it and tell me we don’t need fresh._ ”

Dave pulled open the meat drawer and peered into the back.  The deli bag containing the alleged sentient salami looked dark and sort of leaky.  He could almost smell it from where he was standing.  He scrunched his nose and shut the drawer.  “Fine, get fresh.” Dave closed the fridge and looked around the kitchen, “Oh, and some bread.”

“ _What for?  We have bread._ ” The other man reminded him.

“Yeah, and we also have bread mold.” Dave replied.

“ _Oh.  Ew.  We should really clean out the kitchen more often…_ ”

“Yeah…”

“ _Okay, so I’ll get crust and sauce and salami and bread and… wait.  Wasn’t there something else?_ ”

Dave blinked.  “Uh.  Don’t think so.”

There was silence over the phone for 30 seconds or so.  Finally, John spoke again.  “ _Huh.  Oh well.  I’ll just pick that stuff up, then, and see you soon.  Love you._ ”

“Yeah.  Love you, too.” The call ended.

**Who remembers anniversaries**

“I’m hooome!” John called out unnecessarily as he slammed the front door behind himself and toed off his shoes.

“Congrats.  Thought for sure you’d get lost.” Dave’s voice filtered out from the vicinity of the bedroom.

“It was a near thing, but I finally found my way back.” John responded, confident Dave could probably hear him rolling his eyes as he dropped his things on the hall table and moved into the living room.

“Good job, Lassie.  Now get dressed, we’re going out.” Dave sounded like he was coming nearer.

John huffed and flopped back on the couch.  “I _am_ dressed.  What, do you think I’ve been running around in my underwear all day?  And anyway, I’m tired, I don’t feel like going out.”

He could hear Dave step into the living room and lean on the doorjamb, causing the old wood to creak.  “Tough shit; we’re going.  So go put on something classy.”

“Classy?  Dave, what’re you…” John shifted around to face the door and paused.  Dave was dressed nicely.  Like, suit and bow tie nicely.  John was quiet for a moment, seemingly searching his mind for something before- “Oh.  Shit.”

The corners of Dave’s mouth twitched down.  “You forgot.”

“No!  I didn’t _forget_.  I just… didn’t remember that it was _today_.” John offered his lame excuse as he slid off the couch, “But I’ll go get dressed right now, won’t even take me long!”

The blond didn’t look appeased, but followed his boyfriend back to their bedroom and leaned against the dresser with his arms crossed while the closet was sifted through.  John located his best suit- which is to say, the nicer of his only two suits- and his favorite tie (red, a gift from Dave) and proceeded to get dressed in a hurry.  Finally, after watching John hop around the room on one foot while trying to tie his shoe, Dave sighed.  “John.  Calm down.  Reservation’s not for 40 minutes, we’ve got time.”

“Right, yeah.” John nodded and glanced around the room, muttering to himself, “Left my wallet in the hall…”

He headed for the small table he’d dumped his things on not 20 minutes ago, pushed his wallet into his pocket and grabbed his keys while he was at it.  “Hey, Dave, can you grab my jacket for me?”

“Got it.” Dave was already coming up behind John, suit jacket in one hand and key ring in the other, “And I’m driving.”

John shrugged, accepted his coat, and pocketed his keys.  “Ready to go?” Dave asked, even as he was heading for the front door.

“Yep.  Oh, and Dave?” The blond turned back in time to see John pull a rather impressive bouquet of roses out from behind his jacket, grinning like the showy magician he was, “I really didn’t forget.  I thought it was tomorrow.”

This was one of the few times John had actually managed to stun Dave into silence.  It only lasted a moment, though, and then Dave was smirking and shaking his head.  “Roses?  Are you serious?”

John nodded solemnly.  “The most serious.”

Dave stepped forward, grinning a little bit now.  “You’re a corny fucker, you know that?”

“Psh, don’t pretend you don’t love it.” The dark haired man grinned in return.

The bouquet found itself back on the table as Dave closed the gap between himself and John.  “Well.  I love _you_ …” He muttered as he wrapped his arms around John’s waist.

“Yeah,” John replied, draping his arms heavily over Dave’s shoulders, “I love you, too.”


End file.
